Consumed (Devoured, #2)(49)

Let them talk.





After the Greenville concert, next comes Charlotte on Tuesday night, followed by Charlottesville on Wednesday night. Even though I’m exhausted from walking around downtown Charlottesville the night before after the show, I drag myself out of our compartment Thursday morning when the bus parks behind the venue in Virginia Beach.

As I walk to the galley to grab a glass of orange juice, I’m surprised to find that Sinjin is already up. He’s in the lounge area, playing a video game and cursing at the screen.

As I pour my drink, he glances over at me, running his gaze from my bare feet to my shorts and ratty tee shirt and finally to my messy hair. “You look like shit,” he says.

Sliding down on the couch next to him, I polish off the rest of my orange juice. “Your honesty makes my life complete.”

“I told you, I will always tell you the truth.” He tosses the controller between us and rakes his hands over his face. “God, I’m half-tempted to go with you tomorrow and skip this shit for awhile.”

Rolling my eyes, I pick up the remote and restart his game. Once I manage to get myself killed, and then eaten, by a zombie within the first 30 seconds, he jerks the controller out of my hands. “If you come with me, who’ll play your drum solos?” I ask sweetly.

“Your f*cking boyfriend.” He survives slightly longer that I did—about three minutes—before Game Over flashes across the small flat screen.

“What the hell do you have that thing set on?” I ask as he passes me the game remote again.

“Carnage.”

We do this for a good thirty minutes, making small talk about video games and passing the controller back and forth as soon as we’re killed off. Finally, I ask him about Zoe.

His face clouds over, but he quickly swaps it with a look of indifference. “Cilla pissed her off, but she said she expects shit like that from me, so I don’t know.” I don’t miss the way his voice quivers or how tightly he’s gripping the remote. “The f*cked up thing is that I didn’t f*ck either of those girls.”

“Did you tell her that?” I ask quietly.

He lifts his thin shoulders into a shrug. “It was doomed from the start.”

Drawing my knees up to my chest, I wrap my arms around my legs. “Then maybe that means it’s supposed to work? Like all those epic romances.”

He grants me a sideways glance, like he’s really considering my words. “Epic romances are always f*cking doomed.”

The sound of Lucas shuffling noisily down the bus aisle puts a stop to our conversation and Sinjin hands me the game remote for good. “I’m going to catch some shut eye before sound check.” His green eyes flash a warning at Lucas. “Meaning don’t wake me with any of that bullshit before then.”

Scratching his head so that his shaggy dark hair falls into his eyes, Lucas gives his band mate a cocky smile. He turns that look on me for just a moment, and something flutters in the pit of my stomach. “I’ll do my best,” Lucas promises.

Sinjin disappears into the back, but a few second later, he peeks his head out into the lounge. “Before I forget.” He holds up a set of drumsticks. I catch them, one at a time, when he tosses them in my direction. “Signed and all that good stuff.” Before I can offer him a word of thanks, he’s gone, and I can hear the sound of Puddle of Mudd’s “Famous” playing loudly inside of his compartment.

“Okay, he’s scaring me.” I lift my gaze to Lucas who’s leaned against the galley counter with a Red Bull in his hand. “You look . . . well-rested.”

He pops the tab of his energy drink. “I’ve got two weeks left on the road. Fuck yes, I’m rested.” Giving me an animalistic grin, he throws himself onto the couch with me, grabbing my leg and pulling me on him so that I straddle him. I muffle my shriek of delight with the back of my hand as he grinds my hips against his cock and leans me backward so he can kiss my breast through my tee shirt. “You look like—”

My phone vibrates on the table, interrupting him.

At first, I have no intention of answering it, but then he gives my thigh a squeeze. Reaching over, I begrudgingly grab it and turn it over to reveal an unknown number. A sliver of fear coils through me as I stare at the flashing screen because the first place my mind goes is to Sam.

So far she’s only used words to screw with me. As much as I hate to admit it, my address was probably easy to find because I had once included it in the Contact Me section on my website.

But the thought of her going through the steps of finding my phone number?

Calm down, I think. Stop getting ahead of yourself and just answer the damn thing.

“You just going to stare at the screen?” Lucas growls into my ear.

Giving him a trembling shake of my head, I swipe my finger across the bottom of the screen to accept the call. The person on the other line is already talking before I put my ear to the speaker, and I’m relieved to discover that the voice is automated.

Sort of.

“. . . A collect call from Rebecca Previn.”

It’s my mother.

I don’t know how many times I’ve received similar calls in the past, but they’ve been few and far between over the last year. I had run out of things to give her, and that meant, my use ran out too.

I’m not sure if it’s anger at her sending Gram to that attorney’s office or my old desire to make my mom happy that drives me to accept the call, but I do. She doesn’t start the conversation like she normally would—in that soft, sweet voice she uses whenever she wants something—she’s already advanced to spitting fire.